Harry Potter and the Nordic Frost
by exiledsaddler
Summary: This is my first fanfic attempt. It's supposed to carry on from book 5, but it's very early days. I have some ideas about where it's going, but I just wanted to upload chapter 1 to get started! Please rate and review the little that is there now, any p


The early morning sun was shining brightly, signalling the start of another hot summer's day. It was sure to be another day where holidaying school children ran around creating as much noise as they could, having water fights and filling ice-cream men's pockets with their pocket money earned from washing the street's already sparkling cars. Harry hated the summer. Every day he would look out of his window and see the rest of the street enjoying it. This summer had been the hottest Harry could remember at Privet Drive, he'd even seen Uncle Vernon smile, although not at Harry, whenever he looked at Harry it was with distaste and disgust, not that Harry cared. Occasionally, when he felt the need, Harry would sneak out of the house and go for a long walk around the town. No-one talked to him of course, they had all been told that he was being schooled at St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys; in fact some of the people in the town went out of their way to cross the street when they saw him. Harry often wondered what these people would make of him if they knew that he wasn't actually an incurably criminal boy, but a student of Hogwarts, Britain's only wizarding school. What would they think, he pondered, if he told them that he had defeated the most powerful Dark Wizard, Lord Voldemort, on no less than 3 separate occasions or that he had been the youngest seeker in Hogwarts' history due to his prowess on a broomstick? Some of them would probably move town, he reasoned, so were safer in their ignorance. 

While on these walks, Harry would have to walk past the local park, usually full of happy children, not that they ever invited Harry to play in their games. Harry would often watch them play though, for the lack of anything else to do, but he had no desire to hit a ball with a piece of wood or to run around chasing a ball in the vain hope of kicking it. There was only one sport that held Harry in thrall and that was Quidditch. Harry never felt better than when he was on his Firebolt soaring high above the playing field searching for the elusive Golden Snitch. Realistically, the summer would be the ideal time to play, rather than during the winter where cold hands and runny noses could make his job even harder. Sadly no Muggle had ever _seen_ Quidditch let alone played it. Harry missed playing very much. He had hardly played for over 2 years at school because the Tri-Wizard tournament (which he had competed in and won) had meant that no Quidditch would be played during his fourth year and his fifth year had seen him be banned from playing by a Ministry appointed teacher. Ginny Weasley, the sister of his best friend and Gryffindor keeper Ron, had taken his place as seeker and done a decent job; but Harry felt sure that he would take back his place as soon as they returned to school.

One evening after one of these walks, Uncle Vernon had accosted him in the hall, "And where have you been?" he asked, his bristling moustache looking extra bushy.

"Out," replied Harry.

"I'm well aware of that. Put on your best clothes"

Harry looked down at his baggy jeans and over-large tatty t-shirt, a typical example from his cousin Dudley's "hand-me-down" collection. "These _are _my best clothes," he surmised. Uncle Vernon looked unimpressed by this remark but seemed to have rapidly come to the same conclusion. "Fine," he said, "well we're going out."

"Where?"

"We are going out for a meal to celebrate Dudley's GCSE results and I am loathe to say that you will have to come with us. Mrs Figg is unavailable and I am not leaving you alone to wreck this house." At this point, Aunt Petunia and Dudley appeared in the hallway. His Aunt was dressed in a shocking pink frock and Dudley had been squeezed into a grey suit with a pale blue tie, very similar to what Uncle Vernon was wearing, although he had chosen a dark blue one.

"Suits me," replied Harry, pleased at the prospect of eating some decent food rather than anything his Aunt Petunia could make. Uncle Vernon, however, had other plans, "You will not speak to the waiter; you will drink water and eat bread rolls. If there is any funny business you will be out of this house for good, I don't care what those freaks send us. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," replied Harry, "one question though…"

"What?"

"Can I have butter?"


End file.
